


Ghosts & Gardens & a Certain Time

by LadyVisenya



Category: Blur, Britpop - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-12-24 01:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12002199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVisenya/pseuds/LadyVisenya
Summary: Lyra Porter spends a summer in London that sends ripples throughout the rest of her life.





	1. Summer Dazed

**Author's Note:**

> a damon albarn x oc fanfic written by me when i was very overtired and out of it that turned into something decent. enjoy

_**1992 -  Edinburgh** _

“Fuck finals,” Anne screamed as we both ran out the hall.

“Fuck uni,” I grumbled, closer to death after that last exam, gripping her had tight as we barreled past startled students dead tired from finals week.

We were past caring. We were finally done with school for the year and that meant one thing, London for the summer.

“I haven’t the foggiest how you convinced Evan’s cousin to let us housesit.”

Anne shrugged, shaking her hips to an imaginary tune, “I can be very grown up when I have to be.”

“Bullshit,” I snorted, bumping my hip into hers. “You are the worst. My mum hates you.”

“I still reckon it was your fault. You kicked too hard.”

“Hardly. Drinks?”

“Save it for the city. I want to get pissed tonight. Haven’t seen the outside of a library in ages,” she says with a yawn. “And we have a train to catch.” Her eyebrow’s raised as she smirks my way.

“That was one time,” I protest. “And I only missed it by minutes.”

“Still missed it.”

“Oh fuck off,” I muttered as we made our way from the hall to our dormitory. My mother was terrified at the idea of her sheltered country daughter going to the big bad city. But I wasn’t a little girl anymore. And this was a great way to show her.

Besides, it wasn’t like I was a mess.

I got into uni and made decent marks.

“Stop thinking so much,” Anne snapped, “or you’ll go gray by age thirty. People’ll think you’re my mother.”

Smiling I laughed and took off, “Last one back buys drinks.”

“You fucking cunt!”

Winded, I slumped against the door waiting for Anne to catch up.

We were only on the second floor, thank god, because I would have died if I’d had to climb any more stairs. Pulling my hairs out of my face I dug around my pockets for my key. I had to stop shoving every receipt and trinket into my pockets.

“It’s not fucking fair when you ran in college.” Her porcelain skin had gone all red and blotchy. Strawberry red hair plastered to her skin with sweat as she huffed.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” I said, a grin gracing my lips.

Our bags had been packed for some time. I shoved the last few things scattered on my desk into my bag.

Anne opened the window, took in a breath, looking out into the courtyard of grey decaying buildings and yelled, “Goodbye bitches!”

I laughed.

“Shut the fuck up,” Andrew yelled back, hitting the wall next to ours.

“Bye Andrew,” I told him. He might have been a baby about people making noise late, but he had always been generous with the snacks and drinks.

“Bye Lyra.”

“I don’t get any love,” Anne snarked.

“Fuck off.”

We laughed and hauled our things down the stairs. Gravity helped. Having nothing that could break, Anne sort of let hers go.

I rolled my eyes at her antics, smiling all the same.

We barely made the train on time, settling into our seats and breaking down into giggles. My wary smile meeting hers, smile all teeth.

“London calling,” she whispered.

I nodded, giggling, sliding down into my seat, my bag still on the floor. “Finally.”

We had both applied to uni in London, but only I had gotten into King’s College and I hadn’t wanted to leave her behind. My mum had had a right fit.

It was understandable, but Anne and I planned one becoming old maids together with a houseful of cats to go along with.

“I got a little something for when we finally get there,” she grinned, looking particularly catish.

“Should I be concerned?”

She merely grinned, digging around her bag for her gossip mags.

For a while, I watched the countryside go by. It was a riot of color compared to when I had last watched it go by during christmas hols.

All sorts of greens and pops of yellows and whites. It could have been an impressionist painting. I wondered if there was a connection between the development of impressionism and the steam engine.

I eventually settled into a worn copy of Jane Eyre and curled up in my seat, trading glances with Anne every so often, not quite ready to believe I was finally going to London. It had been a childhood dream to move to London. Or at least go there. Just once.

Then Anne had leaped into my life with all these stories about London. They had all seemed so incredible to me, a simple country girl.

I knew I had to go.

*

It was dark by the time the train pulled into the station.

It was dark and the city wasn’t dead. It was more exciting than my first day in Edinburgh.

I nearly squealed with delight, but managed it to push the excitement down, smiling hard at everything. Eyes sparking with enchantment, making a tired Anne laugh.

She hailed a cab, our first splurge of the summer, and watched me take it all in. Breathing in the smoggy night air, thick with smokers all about. Everyone was heading somewhere.

It felt like just as wonderful as every film had made it out to me.

“Come on,” Anne said hauling me away and into the cab. She told the cabbie out new address and squeezed my hand hard.

She was just as excited as me. Her eyes wide, and fidgeting in her seat. Anne was alway so concerned with evoking an air of cool detachment like the grunge stars of America.

It was only a matter of time before she bleached her hair blonde.

Dancing in my seat, I smiled at Anne, “The worst flat couldn’t kill my mood.”

“Well, Evan’s whole family is moneyed, so I don’t think we’ll suffer much.”

“We need to get a drink right after, I can’t sleep. I’m so,” I uttered, waving my hands.

“I know. I thought I would die in fucking Cokeworth.”

We payed with our pooled money and looked at our new building. It was old, but well cared for in the way only people with money can afford to care for old buildings from the Victorian era.

The rest of the street was much the same.

Quiet and uninviting.

We shrugged and made our way up to the front door.

Anne produced the key and fit it into the slot.

Inside was more homey. Shoes and coats thrown about. A stack of newspapers on a nearby table. Ash tray full of ashes in the sitting room. The rug had a few dark stains. Lone sofa had seen better days.

I relaxed.

“Fucker left us no food,” cried Anne.

“I call the master!”

“Fuck off,” she yelled, “I got us this place.”

“Fight me.”

“Cunt.”

I jumped onto the bed, kicking off my tennis shoes. Adidas from a used shop in Edinburgh. Mum would kill me if she knew I was wearing used clothes. Not that had ever had money to be picky, but we’d managed.

Laying down, I smiled.

A girl from Cokeworth in London.

Elliot Rosier would die if he could see me now.

“Oi, Lyra, I have a very special surprise.”

What the fuck could it be now. It would either be good or bad. Anne’s last surprise had been this flat. Followed up with the admission that she had failed a class. I could have killed her.

It wouldn’t be the same without her at uni.

She held out a joint from her spot on the rug. “Let’s pop that cherry.”

Heat went to my cheeks, “Anne.”

“Unless you don’t want to. I won’t think less of you Lyra.”

It wasn’t that. It was that voice in the back of my head that sounded exactly like my mother. That feeling that people would know and I would get into trouble. A sliver of unease embedded into my spine.

“Come on. It’s London. Let’s run free before having to get back to studying and eventually working until we die.”

“London calling,” I replied, sitting down besides her.

“Exactly,” she smiled, lighting the joint between her lips. Anne took a deep breathe in, leaning her head back, neck defined, and moaned in the most provocative way possible.

I threw a pillow at her.

“Hey, fire hazard.”

Blowing a raspberry, I took the joint from her hands. It was the same basic idea as smoking a fag, just a different outcome.

“Just take the drag. This isn’t some painting you’re analyzing.”

Flipping Anne off, I took a drag. It was anticlimactic. No immediate change.

We took turns taking drags, laying on the floor. Anne sang Nirvana softly and offbeat. Our knees bumped against on another every so often. My mouth felt dry, but I ignored it. It was the nicest I’d felt since before finals week, laying on the floor next to my favorite person in the world.

The lights were out.

Why hand’t we turned them on?

I didn’t want to ever get up.

“I’d meant to find Dark Side of the Moon but then I had to pay Archie back for the book. And I lent Janey money for the train home and the rest of it was pooled so,” she rambles on shrugging, “I wanted to be special and romantic and lovely. Do you still love me Lyra? Say you do. I’d die if you didn’t. Who’d let me copy their psych papers? Not to mention your impeccable taste in clothes.”

“That I let you borrow.”

“That you let me borrow. Even if the shirts and dresses are snug and the jeans are a lost cause.”

“Biology.”

“And all the sport you played.”

“That too.”

The joint burned out to a nub. Was sad to see it go.

My head was fuzzy in the sort of way it only ever is when I have too pull myself out of my warm bed in the morning and run to lecture. Limps heavy with the laziest of moods.

“Let’s go get that drink. I’d kill for a good lager.”

“You do you think you are.”

“We deserve to splurge. It’s fucking London bitch.”

“You won’t be saying that when we run out of money and it’s only July,” I mutter as she pulls me to my feet.

*

The underground is nearby, and we get off on a random stop on the way to the heart of London. The bad thing about posh-ish neighborhoods is the lack of bars and shops that we’d afford. All overpriced bullshit for the lucky assholes who had more money than they could count.

Hopefully I’d get to the point where I too didn’t have to price check everything before even considering buying it.

Anne linked her arm in mine and we walked until she decided which bar call out to her. “It’s just a feeling. I’ll know The Bar when I see it.” Classic Anne.

It was neon. Lights coating everything and everyone in hues of orange. Smoke hung in the air around the smell of beer.

Anne’s face light up with delight. “Its perfect.”

I could barely see anyone’s face clearly. Let alone hear everyone.

“You just love the grunge aesthetic,” I snipped back, going up to the bar with her. My eyes scanned for an open table as we waited for our drinks. Anne had ordered for me, as per usual, chalking it up to my indecisiveness.

“I do,” she crooned.

We slid into an empty table in a corner, Anne was shaking with excitement, looking for her latest target. She was all smiles and teeth and it worked. She was always tumbling into bed with a boy.

It was another reason my mother hated her.

I hadn’t flirted with anyone since spring of 1991. It had ended in a shit date.

I sighed, taking sips of my beer as Anne pointed boys out and made up stories about them, grinning when I laughed.

Anne lightly touched my arm, leaning in before softly whispering in my ear, “I think it’s time I tried men instead of boys.” Then she strutted past a table with three chaps and another woman, features barely discernible, very intently not looking at them, and ordered another drink from the bar.

One of the chaps, kept stealing glances.

I knew how this would end. I had seen this a thousand times. I’d often end up in Andrew’s dorm room instead of my own.

I groaned. I would never find my way back without her. My head was all fuzzy and light and the room was swaying. I took another sip of my drink.

Sure enough, the man followed her back, not long after she set her new drinks down. “Shots,” she said, handing me one.

If I was getting ditched my first night in London, I might as well get plastered.

We drowned the just as the man leaned on the table.

“What are you doing hiding all the way back here,” he said casually leaning against the table.

He was attractive with dark hair just past his ear and soft pink lips.

“Nothing much,” Anne replied with practiced nonchalance not quite looking at him.

I had the urge to lay on the floor and disappear.

“Interested in going somewhere more interesting,” he said, smiling like we had already said yes.

“You just used interested twice in one sentence,” I chimed in. It was terrible. I couldn’t remember why, but it had been drilled into my head at some point. Probably english.

Alex laughed. It sounded fake.

“Oh Lyra,” Anne said, pinching my arm hard, “she’s always so funny when she’s a bit crossfaded.”

Alex’s eyes lit up in amusement, his smile widened as he offered Anne his arm, “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

He was there with a Dave, Maxine, and Nic.

Dave was pleasant enough. Quick to make nice chit chat and easily including everyone in conversation all while saying very little himself. He kept the ball rolling.

In contrast Nic’s expression was sour, lips down turned as he watched Alex and Anne flirt all along our way to wherever we were heading. His expression was exaggerated by full lips, balanced out by a broad nose. Skin shining bronze under the streetlights.

Maxine offered me sugary sweet smiles, reminiscent of a teacher indulging a student.

It was a short walk to a house among a younger more vibrant area of the city. It was tucked behind closed record shops and thrift stores. A park to it’s side. It screamed party flat.

There was already a few people there. Whiny rock blaring from the speakers, and lips sipping from red solo cups.

Dave and Maxine readily disappeared into the crowd and Alex led Anne away. She was giggling and placing her hand on his arm, her smile surgery sweet and eager. Anne had him hooked, Or maybe he had her hooked.

Either way, they had disappeared into the crowd.

I needed another drink.

“The kitchen’s, or at least what might have been a kitchen is that way,” Nic pointed, “be careful. I doubt Damon or Graham have ever cleaned.”

Snorting, I reply, “Men.”

His lips twitch lightly before he heads over to some other chap.

Since I’m here, stranded, I decided to mix from whatever’s available. Parties are never any fun when you’re sober. Spying some vodka and punch, I pour a generous amount of vodka into a red solo cup.

I pout at the lack of cranberry juice. Who had organized this mess?

Drinking down my concoction, I grimace. Not enough punch.

From my side a boy laughs. He must be a boy. He can’t be much older than me.

His eyes are a hypnotic green, easy smile on his lips, expression open. Brownish hair streaked with bonds falling slightly into his eyes. His features are delicate and feminine. The effect is obvious, he’s gorgeous.  

Girls much fall at his feet all the time. Boys too, probably.

“It’s not fair,” I mutter upload without thinking while adding more punch to my drink.

“What isn’t,” he asks voice deeper than I’d have thought, teasing. He seems like a footie lad. Polo shirt too unkempt to be posh.

“Looking like that while I’m trying to wash my skin into look decent.”

He laughs and god if he keeps doing that I might just melt. “I’m not sure I’ve seen you around. I’d have noticed  _you_.” He holds my gaze intently, licking his lips.

Are we flirting?

I can’t tell and the weed from earlier and alcohol don’t help.

My head won’t cooperate. So I just go along with it, pushing any stray thoughts away as easily as they came. “I’ve sort of been jilted by my supposed best friend. But if she keeps this up then she’ll have to find someone else willing to put up with her snoring.” I usually kicked her out before she fell asleep.

He laughs again, leaning in close to me, and I’m right. I’m going to melt like a thirteen year old. My arm brushes his. Skin warm and tingling from where his arm touched mine.

“Who would leave you,” his smile sharp and suggestive, eyes flickering down to my lips.

I’ve seen that look. It’s the same as Anne’s when we’re out and she’s on the prowl.

I shrug. My mind isn’t quite quick enough to think and talk. It doesn’t help that I sort of want to kiss him. I really want him to kiss me.

And he does just that.

He leans in and presses a kiss to my lips, demanding and hungry. His teeth graze my bottom lip and he deepens the kiss. He tastes of beer and sugar. Leaning into me, his hand caresses my jawline, and my eyes flutter shut.

It’s rough and hot and all too much; his hand trailing down my back.

I smile into the kiss, and pull back. “Does it always work? You flutter your eyes, and girls fall into your arms.”

Shrugging with a childlike mischievousness, he easily answers unabashedly, “Pretty much.”

I nod. It’s tempting. He’s pretty and charming and I can already imagine the things I’d let him do to me. This is a bloke who will take and take and you’d let him all for that tender look as he smiles at you like you’re both in on a secret. Like he’s letting you in on a secret. Tempting.

But I also feel like spinning until I fall over and-

“Well,” I say, eating his chest lightly, “you’re pretty and all. But that only gets you so far.” Then I turn around before I second guess myself and head out. I keep walking even as I scream at myself for turning him down. It would have been just a one night stand. No harm, no foul. This was supposed to be a summer of adventures and stupid decision just like him.

But my pride wouldn’t let me turn back now.

Once on the street I pick a direction and walk. Eventually I have to run into a station or cab. At least I hope so.

Someone calls after me.

My heartbeat speeds up, and I wonder if I could run or if I’d just face plant as the floor sways about.

“Wait up.” Closer now, I realize it’s Nic.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” I snap.

“Well forgive me,” he snaps right back, “but you’re headed towards more houses. Thought you might need some help.”

“And,” I ask archly.

“And I would die to know what you said to Damon. He had the stupidest look on his face.”

“Well then,” I say, deciding that some help wouldn’t be so bad since I still have no clue where anything is in this city and Nic seems nice enough, “hail us a cab and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Who has that kind of money.”

“Well I don’t know which station to get off at,” I snap.

“Just tell me where. I know how to get around.”

And I do.


	2. parklife

_**1992 - London** _

Anne makes sure to tell me every little detail as we walk around the center of London. She had gotten back at some point in the morning. I had been dead to the world, not even making it to the room I had claimed for myself. I  passed out on the sofa and had the vaguest memories of last night. 

My head pounded and no amount of water seemed to help my dry mouth.

Anne went on for hours about the lumpy mattress. . .Alex’s calloused hands. . .his cute smirk when she stripped. . .cigarette in hand as he kissed her hard. . .the bitter taste of beer on his lips. . .how he paid for her cab home. 

“But the sex was fine,” she whined for the millionth time. “I just think being attractive makes men believe they can get away with doing the least.”

Laughing, I nodded along with her. She’s always so serious in her judgements. Lips drawn tight, a sneer on her face, her thin face only pronouncing the effect. 

“He was all right.” Alex was admittedly fit, but not the sort I’d go for. Too quiet and lost in his own thoughts. 

“Of course you’d think that. Lyra,” she drew out, “you’re always so picky. We’re nineteen. We’ll never be this young again. There’s no reason not to try everything we want.”

She has confidence and curves and is always ready to throw herself at everything. 

“Well, when I want something I will,” I respond, “try it I mean.”

She takes pictures with a cheap disposable camera that tourists use. We fall over each other, trying to both fit into the frame. Dancing on the grass by Buckingham Palace and shoving past people in Trafalgar square. 

Anne drags me away from every museum, even when I protest. 

“We’ll have time for that later.” She says, face obscured by the large brim of her hat, yellowed straw contrasting her strawberry hair. Her hand holds mine as we navigate the crowds.

We buy some crisps and lay in Hyde park. 

I braid Anne’s hair, and re-braid it while she writes in her journal. I catch glimpses of the words, Alex’s name being mentioned a few times. She doodles names of places we’ve been to so far into the margins. 

I lay down in the damp grass, hand over my eyes. Not caring if my dress fell back too high. My knickers were cute with little koi fish dancing along them. 

The sun is warm without burning. 

It’s easy to lay without thinking and rest. My eyes sliding close, and I focus on all the sounds around us: the birds, the people, Anne’s concentrated breathes as she scratches words onto paper. The sound of cars and trains goes on in the distance. Every once in a while, a plane will fly overhead.

“Get up Lyra,” Anne yelped, tugging on my arms, “I want to braid your hair now.”

“I barely have any.” 

It had been sheared to fall just below my ears in a poorly done bob at three in the morning. It was just starting to grow.

“I told you to wait until morning.”

“No you didn’t” I said, smacking her arm, “you kept egging me on.”

She laughed along with me. 

I sat up and looked around the park as everything came back into focus. Vision over saturated from the sun, and locked eyes with a man riding a bike. He looked familiar. 

He crooked his neck to get a better look at me and crashed off the path. 

I giggled, hiding my lips behind my hands. 

Anne’s fingers felt light as they threaded my hair. It was thick and wavy and always a headache to deal with in the morning. Anne loved it, just like most people with straight hair did. 

Playing with her hat while waiting for her to finish, I noticed the man heading towards us, bike rolling by his side. I was sure I knew him by now. 

My legs were asleep, tingling from being still for too long. 

Anne’s jeans had grass stains. 

I tried to remember who he was before he reached us. But my memories were fuzzy and nothing wanted to connect. I knew I’d eventually get it. 

But my hangover from last night was still there. 

Anne finished just as he reached us. 

“And here I thought we had hit it off,” he says casually like we’ve been friends for years. His face is open, a playfulness right under the friendly smile. His jeans don’t quite fit, ripped from use. Tennis shoes scuffed and unlaced. Fresh cuts on his chin. 

They don’t make him look any less attractive; his features slender and soft. 

He looks positively radiant in the summer sun. 

“I’m sure you did,” I respond, trying to buy myself time.

“Oh come on,” he says mockingly, “you’re killing me.” His hand goes to clutch his chest and he sort of falls over.

I laugh and it clicks into place. 

Damon. 

He smiles, pleased at having gotten a laugh out of me. 

Anne throws me a cattish smile which I force myself to ignore. She’s going to grill me for information later. 

“New around London,” he asks, turning over onto his stomach, his gaze fixed on me as he props himself up on his arms. Damon’s eyes are slightly droopy, giving the impression of affection and just a hint of cheekiness. 

But his easy smile helps me ignore push aside any hesitation in talking to this boy I barely know. 

“Hardly. I’ve already been here more than an hour.”

He snorts, hand reaching out to graze my leg. “Want a tour? I know all the good places.” He’s eager, face lighting up as his fingers trace circles on my skin. 

I have to bite my lip to stop myself from doing anything stupid, an old habit, as his touch sends shivers down my back.

Anne gives me a warning look. She’s selfish and has already made plans for us. Has already made plans for most of our days really, leaving only the nights for drunken adventures. But she ditched me once, and I want him. 

I want to see where this goes. 

“Why not.”

Damon's grin is smug. 

We both look at each other, smiling like idiots before Damon remembers Anne. 

He glances at Anne, “It’ll only be for a few.” The lie falls easily off his lips as he stands up, helping me up as well. 

Way too pleased with himself, he hops on his bike, then waits for me to hop on. 

I’m not crazy in the way that Anne is. I never have been. So instead of being daring and leaning into him, I keep myself as upright as possible, unable to look anything but silly riding on the handle bars. 

It’s easier to be brave with some alcohol. 

I ignore the fluttering in my stomach. I’m half sure we’re going to fall at first, the bike leaning from side to side almost too far over at first. Damon laughing as my hands grip the handle bars like they’ll keep me from falling.

But once we get going it’s easy. 

He doesn’t talk my ear off like I thought he might. Instead, he points out all spots he knows: the building where Alex used to squat, the bar that gave them day old toast since they didn’t have money for anything other than cheap lager, the record shop Graham always dragged him to on Tuesdays for the good sales, and the park where he’d fallen asleep while Graham sketched and ended up missing his train home.

Damon leans forward, grazing the shell of my ear, whispering words that don’t match what he’s making me feel, all warm and fuzzy. I haven’t stopped smiling even with my ass hurting from sitting on the handles. 

It’s all to easy to listen to him. And letting him talk doesn’t make me feel brushed off the way it usually does when you barely know someone. 

There’s a slight whistle to his words, pronounced with every s sound. 

“Missing tooth,” he explains. It’s annoying, and once I notice I can’t ignore it. I have to force myself not to laugh. But as with everything about him, he’s unapologetic. 

He smells of smoke and stale sweat and something rich that must be whatever natural perfume Cosmo was on about. It’s not something I care for, and might have sent me running from other boys, but it works for him. 

I catch myself leaning back, leaning into him. 

Damon offers me a fag, while he goes on about how much he hates America and how he doesn’t get it. He pauses, waiting for me to agree. He’s always somewhat annoyed at my patronizing smiles. 

“You’ve never been. Americans are just simple,” he scoffs, sneering. 

I’d always been inclined to believe that people are the same everywhere once you got under the flags and accents. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“I’m not one to judge before ever going. I mean, different people have different opinions.” 

“There’s wrong opinions though.”

That I can agree with. I tell him as much and he smirks. I pass him the fag after taking a long drag, grateful I haven’t choked on the smoke yet the same way I had the first and second and third time I’d smoked. 

“What brings you to London? Other than not being in the Stepford nightmare that is the midlands.” 

“The same thing that brings everyone I suppose. The draw of the city and not being bored in the country,” I shrug, “but mostly housesitting for a friend of a friends. Otherwise I’d be in Cokesworth while trying not to off myself.”

“Is it everything you’d hoped?” 

Damon’s right by me, his lips a breath away. The lack of personal space should set me off, but it’s feels electric. My chest grows tight and hot in anticipation instead of making me want to take two steps back just to breathe. 

With him, it’s being drawn into our own special bubble. 

I give him the answer he wants to hear. “I think it’s grand,” I utter, turning before he can lean in and kiss me. “Except you have to be in the know because if you’re not you’ll end up in all the touristy places while missing out on all the hidden corners.”

With a slight pout, he replies, “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

Deflating I realize I never gave him my name. Or rather, he never asked. Hell, why did I even go with him. 

We’re in a complete different part of London. I don’t recognize a thing. I have barely even memorized my current address and the nearest station. Fuck. 

“I should get going,” I whisper, letting out a breath. 

“So soon?”

“Anne’ll kill me. She never really learned to share.”

“Neither did I,” he teases, glancing down at me, twiddling his thumbs. 

And then he’s kissing me. It’s softer than it was at the party. Damon is needy and deeps the kiss easily. I respond, opening my lips to his and I’ve never felt so blissed out from aa simple kiss. 

Breathless and heavy, I pull away. 

He makes a small noise of complaint. 

“I do have to get back. We’re supposed to paint later and the light is best during midday.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, hand stroking my cheek.

“Yeah.”

“Promise you’ll see me again-“

“Lyra,” I offer, my name heavy and loaded on my lips.

“Lyra,” he repeats, my name rolling off his tongue with a small grin. “Where can I find you? I’d hate to keep relying on fate. It might get tired of doing all the work.”

I giggle and tell him my address for the summer and run off, not caring about the direction but wanting to look more sure of myself than I feel. 

Forcing myself not to look back, I walked in the general direction of shops and bars. There would be a station or at least a cab nearby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts?


	3. Common People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mess and a Graham.

Anne sneaks bites of died apricots from her purse as we wander around the halls of the British Museum. It’s filled with everything we stole from the rest of the world during the height of the British Empire. 

She let’s me talk at her, about the each piece that I’d only ever seen in the pages of my textbooks. Grainy and more often than not, in black and white. There’s nothing like being there and seeing art in person. I could just about reach out and touch the lammasu, its paint worn away by carelessness of British archeologists decades ago. 

Anne smiles half heartedly as I talk her ear off. She sits on the couches in the middle while I soak up the paintings and sculptures and masks from every corner of the world. 

It’s much too large to do in one day. 

“Come on,” Anne says gently, “we can come back tomorrow and the next day. And didn’t you mention wanting to visit the Victoria and Albert? And then we still have to go tour Buckingham palace.”

“You just want to get pissed.”

Snorting she admits, “Yeah. You don’t.”

“I don’t actually want to give the queen any more of my money.” 

“You didn’t actually pay taxes last year.” Which is true, I hadn’t worked. I’d made due with what my mother managed, but that was defiantly not a good choice. Too many meals of instant noodles. 

“Off with her head?”

Anne lets out a laugh, head thrown back, and the sun lights up her skin like she’s the moon. “Very Alice in Wonderland.”

“I was thinking Bloody Mary actually,” I tell her, pushing my hair back into a loose bun. The sun is high in the sky. “It’s a bit early to get drinks.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Anne says, shaking her head. “And I think we could get away with some wine.”

She clearly has been thinking about this for a while. She walks with purpose to a small cafe I hadn’t even noticed on our way here. It’s flanked by thrift stores of the upscale variety that seem to think I’d pay more then a few pounds for a worn flannel. 

It’s charming. 

Small cakes and pastries and a selection of wine. We could be in Paris. 

After we order the second cheapest wine, we make our way through cakes and pasties that are too pretty to eat. 

Anne insists on taking out her disposable camera, “One day we’ll want to look back not this! These are the memories we’ll think of when we’re ugly and old Lyra!”

Some of the older clients throw us dirty looks and I blush in embarrassment that I don’t want to feel. Anne is always a scene onto herself. She flips them off as we leave. 

We stumble our way through the streets, vision dreamy with the kick of wine. 

“Do you think our parents were ever this young and carefree,” Anne wonders as we catch the train to toward West London. Anne always insists on changing into something else before really going out. 

“Probably? I mean, they had to be. Although I can’t imagine my mum ever letting loose.”

“Oh, she would have been in beetle mania,” she crooned, her words slurring.

“Not sure she’s that old.” She might have been, but I was too out of it to do the mental maths. My thought’s swirling around in my head.

I wait for Anne, smoking a fag on the stairs. She takes hours to find the right thing to wear. I don’t bother to change, feeling fine in a skirt and sweater combo. 

She comes down in a slinky silver lame dress, ripped cardigan that’s seen better days, and high heels that make her tower over me even more so than usual. Never one to miss the chance to go all out. 

She grins, “Too much?”

Of course it is. That’s what she wants. “Definitely,” I answer, and we share a bout of giggles, shoulders rubbing against each other. 

Some friend she’s made was DJ’ing at a club in hackney. It was always more lively in that part of town than in our current and posh neighborhood. 

“I don’t know if they’ll be any good,” Anne admits, with a grin, “but it’s better than staying in. Can you imagine what a waste. It’s our time. We can’t waste it sitting at home.”

“Shut up,” I say, not meaning it. People keep stealing glances at us, or rather Anne. Who wouldn’t? 

The same chubbiness that kids had taunted her in primary school had turned into curves. And with the right dress she wasn’t fat, she was hot. Her body filling out dresses that on me looked like a sack. 

“Make me,” she said, smacking her lips. 

She lit a cigarette as we reached the club, “for the right look of cool,” she said in mock seriousness. She couldn’t have tried harder if she tried, but her easy going nature kept it from looking too forced. 

She wore her effort with a badge of pride. 

I ordered the same drinks we always had; cranberry vodka for me, and a lager for her. 

Anne had timed our arrival to be twenty minutes late, and yet the show had barely started. The people just starting to nod along to the music, not drunk enough to really dance. 

“I’m going to say hello,” she said, leaning in, “Come with?”

“I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.”

She waltzes over to the DJ station, a piss poor set-up on a foldable table that wouldn’t be out of place at a child’s birthday party, and immediately engages in conversation with the bloke. He’s dark skinned set by thick serious lips, and a chain with a cross. His shirt is a crisp and simple white, while his black trousers are a carefully ironed. 

Anne has no type other than attractive. 

I nurse my drink. 

The set is good, and makes even the most reluctant people dance along. With enough alcohol, maybe I’ll forget Anne’ll probably spend the night somewhere else and leave me to get the last train back alone. 

With enough drinks maybe I’ll find my own bloke to fuck for the night. 

Of course that’s when Damon appears as if conjured out of thin air, his smile cheeky as ever, drink in hand. The nerve. 

It had been more than a week and he’d never dropped by. He’d fallen off the face of the earth as quickly as he had appeared and it hurt even as I told myself I didn’t care. 

We were little more than strangers. 

“This must be fate,” he says, taking a sip of from his drink.

Snorting, I retort, “it’s just a coincidence.” But it seems like fate too keep meeting him in a city full of millions of people. 

Uncrushed, he goes on, “No. I think it’s fate. Y’know, red string theory. Don’t you sense it Lyra? ” His eyes sparkles as he goes on about what red string theory is, hands motioning around, holing my own. 

“I know what it is,” I snap, not in the mood to indulge him. 

Damon’s smile falters for a second. 

He takes a sip of his drink, eyes studying my face, before continuing, “It’s fate,” he whispers, “because I dropped by yours earlier, meaning to invite you here. But you were out, and yet here you are.” 

Damon had moved closer, voice husky as he added, “And three is a very powerful number.”

I could almost feel him pressed against me, leaning in-

“Cute story,” I tell him, meaning to end the whole conversation, but my annoyance has dissolved. My cheeks growing hot, and I want it to be true. That we just missed each other and this is some sign from the universe. 

Damon glances at my lips, and when I think he’s going to kiss me, he pulls back, “do you want to come join us,” he motions to another table where two other men are in a heated conversation. 

I’m technically not ditching Anne, so I go along with him. 

Damon’s hand intertwines with mine as we head over. He introduces me to Graham, “my best mate,” and Oliver, “the absolute worst,” and casually rests his arm around me.  

Graham seems intent on convincing Damon that hip hop is good and “have you still not listened to the mixtape I made you?”

“It’s not like I’ve had time you wanker,” Damon easily replies, his hands squeezing my waist. 

I bite down on my lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of any reaction. 

Anne is still chatting up one of the DJs, not even aware that I’d given up our table. 

It’s hard to keep up with the conversation, too many in jokes and references too people I don’t know. By the time I figure out what to say the moment’s passed. I’m overthinking things and I hate it. I hate not being able to come up with something witty to say off the tip of my tongue. 

“So you down in London for the summer then,” Graham asks?

“Yeah, then back up to Edinburgh for uni.”

“You don’t sound Scottish.”

“I’m not. I’m from the midlands. Up in Scotland for uni,” I explain. 

“No fucking way,” Graham says, shoving his glasses up, “we’re from the midlands too.”

“Speak for yourself mate,” Damon cuts in, “I’m from East London.”

“Oh fuck off,” Graham responds. 

I laugh along with them, finishing off my drink. 

“Must be smart to get into Uni there,” Oliver comments.

“I do alright.”

“Damon’s a bloody idiot,” Graham tells me, “couldn’t even cut it in drama school.”

“I was horrible at it. Leave the acting to the actors,” he shrugs, but he blushes anyway. “It all worked out in the end though. Didn’t it?”

Graham laughs, nodding along to Damon. 

“So what is it you do exactly?”

Damon instantly looks hurt. Graham and Oliver both laugh at him, it must be an old running joke. 

“We’re in a little band called Blur,” Graham explains. 

I groan, “Why is every bloke in a band.”

Oliver bursts into giggles as Damon shakes it off, “oh but darling, we’re signed.”

“You can’t be very big if I’ve never heard of you.”

“Give it time,” he says, leaning in, forehead touching mine. 

Oliver goes to get another round of drinks and by my third I’m dragging Damon out on the floor for some inspired, if not good, dancing. I’m not as drunk as I’d like to be, and we both trip over ourselves. But I know the trick to this. 

I don’t care. With a good beat and a couple of drinks, I don’t care how stupid I look. There’s freedom in dancing around, however badly. 

Damon still looks unconvinced by the music, but he goes along with it, his body pressed against mine. 

Lips brushing against my ear, he whispers, “Ever done acid.”

I hadn’t even gotten high until last week. I shake my head, looking back at him, his gaze soft and thoughtful. 

“It’s nice. Like being on another level.”

He’s waiting for me to ask. 

Anne’s always the first one to do anything. The first one to kiss a boy. The first one to have sex. The first one to get high. 

“Why? You offering?”

He chuckles before placing an kiss on the edge of my lips, “let’s get out of here.”

“Okay.”

And just like that we’re fumbling to the nearest station, his arms around me, keeping me near him as he presses kiss against the back of my neck. 

We catch the train back to his. 

Damon leads me to the bathrooms, dirty and too bright. He digs around his pockets, producing a small stash of tabs with disney characters emblazoned on. “It’s nice,” he repeats, breaking one in half, “especially with the right person.”

He places half a tab on his tongue, making a silly face before kissing me, passing the tab in an open mouthed kiss. He then pops a full tab into his mouth. 

“I don’t feel any different,” I tell him. 

Damon cups my face in his hands, “don’t worry. It takes a little while.” 

We walk to his flat. His flat is in the chic bohemian part of west London. The buildings a riot of color among the many cafes and graffitied walls. It triggers memories in my head. Familiar and hazy and faded with alcohol and weed. 

He steals kisses as we climb the stairs, fumbling for the key to find that the door was open. 

“I find that it helps unlock thoughts and parts of yourself that you’re not really aware of. Not that I would ever use constantly but it can help me write, put me in the right state of mind,” he drawls, words slurred and spewing bullshit. 

The same kind of nonsense I filled pages of research papers with, nonsense. 

His room is messy; bed undone, and clothes scattered around. 

There weren’t actually that many things. His bed just a mattress on the floor and a nightstand with a rather interesting ashtray. 

“Mum made it,” he said, kicking his shoes off and going to put on a record. There’s a stack of records and mixtapes, the only things that look organized along with a beaten up keyboard, in the corner. “She also made this necklace for me and Grem,” he says, toying with the ugly necklace. 

The first beats of come together start to play throughout the room. I go to lay down as my vision goes wonky. The blue in Damon’s eyes as he lays down next to me taking on an intense shade, startling me. 

He’s kissing me, or at least I think he is. 

The shadows on the wall dance as the move throughout the room, occasionally coming near enough to touch. 

Damon whispered something in my ear but I can’t make it out. 

My bare legs feel weird under my touch and I have to get rid of my skirt. I can’t stand it. It’s too rough against my skin. It’s too much. 

I pull the covers up, undoing my bra, moaning when it comes off after a long day. 

Everything in the room comes alive and bursts into colors and there’s so much going on I can hardly keep up. 

“Sh,” Damon whispers, “focus on the music.” He discards his own shirt, and I can’t help but giggle at his white white skin. Chest hair lighter than his actual hair, forming a trail down. 

He nuzzles my neck and I run my hands over his skin. 

We lay there for hours, the sun lightening the sky, saturated in crimson reds and golds and the clouds form images from zoetropes, moving and looking down at me and-

Damon hovering over me, his hips against mine, kissing me slowly. I curl my hands in his hair, obsessed with he softness and gold gleam that it gave off. 

I giggled breaking off into giggles breaking the kiss. 

He smiles against my skin and neither of us could stop laughing. 

The music changed and the it carried me off-

*

The blankets had been shoved onto the floor at some point and my head pounded. Everything was too bright. Too loud. Too much. 

Damon was still fast asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling. 

The light came in through the window, curtains pushed aside. 

It gave his skin a golden hue, highlighting the blonde in his hair. He resembled a half grown peter pan. All youth and glory and boyish softness. 

It was hot this time of year, my skin sticky with sweat. 

The pounding in my head heavy and thoughts scattered. I couldn’t remember much at all. And what I did remember made no sense. Thoughts strung together by colors and sounds and nothing made sense. 

I got up, wanting to get rid of the bad taste in my mouth, careful not to wake Damon, grabbing my skirt and bra off the floor.  

In the light of day, last nights choices seemed stupid and wrong and what had I been thinking. It was a constant stream of thoughts. Taking drugs from someone I barely knew. Not letting Anne know where I’d gone. 

This was how women got disappeared. 

Swallowing, I let myself into the bathroom. Cold water felt good on my skin and I must have stood there watching for a while. Watching it run down the sink, crystal clear. 

The bathroom was as mess as you’d expect from two men who had parties on the regular. 

I rubbed my teeth with toothpaste. 

There were hickies littering my neck and collarbone, only partially hidden by my sweater. I sighed, giving up on the bird’s nest that was my hair, and pulling it up in a messy bun. Better than nothing. 

Now I had to figure out whether to slip out or not. 

It wasn’t really a one night stand. And Damon seemed to like me enough to not mind if I stuck around, but he had also been drunk and probably high when he had asked me home. 

I let out a breath, jumping at the sudden knocking. 

It was Graham. 

“Hey Lyra, fancing seeing you here.” He seemed to be implying something, but with a killer hangover, I couldn’t wrack my brain to figure out what. 

“Likewise,” I said, forcing a smirking. 

“Want a cuppa coffee?” 

“Sure.”

I trailed after him in compatible silence. It was a relief to not have to think of what to say, to have to think up small talk.

It was instant coffee. He was heavy handed with the milk and sugar, but I was just glad to be drinking something. 

“Day won’t be up for hours,” Graham told me. 

It was clear he wanted me gone. I sort of wanted me gone too. Anne must be freaking out by now. And if she wasn’t then she was a shitty friend. 

“I better get going,” I said. 

“Yeah.”

“Without a kiss goodbye,” Damon said, walking into the kitchen. “That’s cold Lyra.”

“It’s hardly my fault you were sleeping,” I counter. 

“Oh, but I got up for you didn’t I,” he says with a pout. “Grem can tell you how hard it is too wake me up in the morning.”

Graham rolls his eyes with a familiar fondness. “Bloody lout.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Damon offers, opening a bag of chips.

“We do have shit to do Day. And we’re late no thanks to you,” Graham reminds him.

Damon throws him a dirty look before turning back to me, “Raincheck on that.” His face still sleepy, smile missing its usual cheekiness. 

He leans in and kisses me, asshole hasn’t even washed his teeth. Raincheck indeed.


	4. walk of shame

“At least when I go off I let you know,” Anne yelled for the thousandth time. “I was so fucking worried! I was going to call 999 and everything! I thought you’d died or been kidnapped and I was going to have to identify your dead body and Fuck Lyra!” She ran her hands through her hair, not caring that it got tangled. 

“I was so bloody scared! Let a girl know.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her again. “I thought you’d be out too, or rather I wasn’t thinking and got carried away.”

After a pause I repeat, “I’m sorry.” Tears threatened to spill, eyes stinging. 

My head pounded but I didn’t want to take anything. I wanted to lay down. I wanted to curl up on the carpet and not have to do anything. Not have to dal with anything right now. 

The bright sun streaming into the room hurt my eyes as Anne paced around, rubbing her ams with her hands. 

She kept glancing at me, making sure I really was there. 

She wasn’t wrong. Anne always let me know when she was running off with some bloke for the night. She was back before I had even gotten back the next day; a real modern day cinderella. 

“Lyra,” Anne sighed sitting down next to me and hugging me tightly. “Just let me know next time.”

That was it, I couldn’t kept the tears from falling. She still liked me and I put her through all of this. I giggled with relief, nodding, “Yeas mum.”

Then with a shaky smile, she asked the real questions, “Now tell me everything!”

Tears ran down my cheeks, making my face puffier than it already was. The curse of baby face and cheeks that hurt when I smiled too much. 

“Are you okay,” she asked, eyebrows quirked up. 

I nodded, “I’m still coming down. I think. I feel so light and mellow Anne.” Too prove my point I danced around, grinning, almost falling over.

“What did you take?”

“It’s fine,” I replied. 

It hadn’t been much. And Damon had been right; it had been nice after the initial panic as everything had gone sideways. Damon had held my hand reassuringly, tracing circles on the back of my hand. The music soothed me as everything came alive. 

It was like opening my eyes for the first time. 

Anne nodded, mouth draw, “Alright. Go take a shower and let’s go to Camden Market.”

“We’re going to be so broke when we get back to school.”

Anne shrugged and I headed upstairs. 

Housesitting was boring and actually uncomfortable. It was permanently being over at a friends house, nothing was really yours and you were always uncomfortable to grab anything even after they had told you to help yourself. 

It was made worse by the fact it was some relative of Evan’s I had never met. 

I took my time in the shower. Lights bright against the stark white tile, while the warm water ran down my skin, wiping away the night’s grime. 

My smile grew. I was stupid happy, and probably still not quite over the effects of the acid. 

But if this was the after effects, then I’d rather this than being hungover. 

After throwing on a clean shirt and jeans, Anne and I waltzed out of the house and to Camden. Anne had been planned on spending most of her time thrifting, between drinks and parties, and I just couldn’t say no to her. I’d rather have a quiet day in after how crazy the last few days had gone. 

Maybe drink some wine and catch something on the tele. I might even read the books I’ve been meaning to finish for months. 

I slumped against a used chair for sale, watching Anne try on outfit after outfit, swearing she could just lose the weight or take it in a little. “I mean, I’m sure I could figure out how to hem it.” 

As tall as she stood, the dress still dragged. 

“You said the same thing about the jeans you’re wearing right now and you ended up using staples!”

“Yeah, well,” she said, shimming, “it worked didn’t it.”

“Not the point.”

“Sure Lyra. Whatever makes you feel better,” she called from the fitting room in a sing song voice.

She could never let anyone else have the last word. 

We left with a whole new wardrobe for Anne. “It’s not like I can just come back for anything Lyra. It could be gone by them and I’d never get over it.”

“I’m not saying anything,” I protested, lighting a fag as we headed back with our haul. 

“You have that bitchy face,” she said, mimicking the supposed look, “See!”

“I’m not! 

It’s your money. You can do whatever you want with it.”

“There it is again,” she said, grinning, “your nose even scrunches.”

“Don’t have a go at my nose!”

“You have a very cute nose,” she said tapping it.

“Fuck off.” I knocked her hand away as we barely caught the train. We could have walked if Anne hadn’t have bought so many things. 

“And here I was, getting you the shirts you like.”

“Oh my god, I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

Anne grinned madly, wiping away fake tears and almost toppling over with the weight of her bags, “My daughter, all grown up.” 

“Mum,” I whined. 

“Doing drugs with the trashiest lads around.”

I snorted, nearly choking on my own spit. 

Anne nudged my shoulder, “London calling.”

*

We spend the afternoon eating fruit and chips while sipping on wine. It’s cheap, mostly choose for the name and design, Goya and the art nerd in me couldn’t say no to that. 

A mess of clothes lies in a pile on the bed. I paint my nails a bright orange for the first time in months. The color will chip in hours like always, but it feels nice to do something mundane. A throwback to our tween sleepovers in Cokesworth. 

“That color is atrocious and yet it works,” Anne snips, modeling her new clothes in front of the mirror, plastic pearls wrapped around her neck.

“Very french chic.”

“I just want to be Francois Hardy in the 60s,” she pouted, “is that too much to ask.” She thrilled in flared jeans, knees ripped, and a rich green blouse. 

“But Serge was so ugly! Like how?”

“I know!” She tugs the jeans off and pulls an overall looking jean dress and an old rolling stones t shirt. 

“Is that my shirt?”

“Sharing is caring,” she grins ruthlessly, “Now try this on.” 

It’s a leather mini skirt. Racier than anything I own, but it would easily fit into my assortment of skirts and shirts. 

“With,” she says, holding a finger up as she digs around, “this!” 

“Oh no,” I tell her, shaking my head. The shirt is too sheer and paired with the skirt I couldn’t wear it. 

“Yes! For me. You owe me,” she pleads. 

After that I turn into her doll, modeling her outfits and costume jewelry alongside her. She pulls out her camera, which I’m sure by now must be a different one with the amount of photos she takes, and poses me in different parts of the house. 

“Think young hot italian romance in Santorini. Can’t you smell the ocean!”

“You’re a young hot thing that hangs out with Mick Jagger in his glory days!” 

“Virginia Woolf and Vita eloping together to the country,” she says, wrapping her arms around me and kissing my cheek. 

Laughing, I take the camera from her and snap some photos of my own, sure they’ll be blurry and nothing like hers.     

Giddy from the wine, we play some music and do each others makeup and polish off three bottles of wine before laying on the bed among the clothes and talking nonsense. 

“Let me do your nails,” I ask, already reaching for the polish. 

Blue, translucent like the blue streams that only ever seem to exist in photography and movies when the star crossed loves elope to the sea. 

Blue like Damon’s eyes. 

Anne falls asleep on her back. Body still as she had been waiting for her nails to dry and telling me all about her latest book ideas, what her muses were up to in her head. 

Using a dress as a blanket, I curled up and fell asleep besides her. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last finished chapter if anyones out there let me know because i probably wont write more if no one is reading


	5. further down the rabbit hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for drug use, damon doing questionable things, and sex i guess cool

“Wanna go out,” Damon asked, casually leaned against the doorframe. He was dressed in a black sweater and a pair of fitted jeans for a changed. His shoes were unlaced and I was mentally screaming. This boy was going to die tripping over his own shoelaces. 

“Were too?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said, smile wide. 

“We’ll now I have to,” I said, fighting the urge to smile, “let me get my bag.”

Anne was standing to the side, smothering her laugh and excitement with her hand and being useless. I was surprised Damon hadn’t heard her yet.

I grabbed my bag on its spot on the floor, and old bucket bag that had been my mothers when it had still been bright and not moth eaten, and Anne’s military green jacket off the couch. After telling Anne to shut the fuck up, off with Damon I went. 

He was bouncing on the soles of his shoes as we walked. 

“I think the new album is really coming together. Especially once Dave and Alex figured out where Grem and I were heading. It’s magical,” he told me, “when you’re all on the same wave length.” 

“So you’re really excited.”

“I just love making music. Grem says I’m a workaholic. But I don’t think so.”

“I guess once you find what you like to do, you just keep doing it. You want to keep doing it. I doesn’t feel like work.”

With a lazy smile of his lips, he responds, “or it’s the weed.”

I can’t help but laugh. There’s something boyish to his amusement; a quality most people lose as they grow up and have to deal with getting jobs and growing old. 

“Not really. Over time it sort of goes away after a while. I’ve loved art and history for ages so I thought it might be something I could major in, but,” I shrug, “I’ll take an interesting class and want to switch majors.

Not to mention I have no clue what I’ll do after school. It’s a mess. I’m a mess,” I admit dragging my hand down my cheek. I hate thinking about school. Graduation more like a death sentence than something to look forward to. 

He leans out into the street, hailing a cab. “I tend to think only in the now. This time. This place. These people.” Damon smirks at me.

“That must make it easy.” 

He shrugs, “I was always shit in school. And now I’m doing my hobby for a living and hopefully people aren’t thick enough to miss the whole point of it. I mean, the world’s changing so quickly it’s so easy to get caught up in it, lose yourself in mass produced culture some man in a suit voted on. And people want that,” he mutters shaking his head. “I do think music should have a point, it shouldn’t just be like pop or whatever.” 

It’s the most pretentious thing to say, almost as bad as Evan had been after a philosophy class. “So not just Baby Got Back,” I said, teasing, knowing by now that he could take it. Damon likes the cheeky back and forth. 

He laughs and we slide into the cab, he gives directions and I still have no clue what he has in mind. Not that I mind. 

Damon rolls a joint as we ride through the city. 

It’s hard to believe how late it is. The sun is out and it’s past nine and there’s still so many people out and about, walking on the streets. The summer heat has settled over London and this is my first time here and I know everyone’s always saying London’s dark and  gloomy but those people obviously haven’t been up to Edinburgh. 

It’ll be light out for another good two or three hours. 

Damon passes me the joint as he slouches on the seat, shirt bunching up around he waist. I laugh, leaning into him, holding the smoke in my mouth before letting it out, trying for smoke rings, blowing it towards the window. 

His hand settles on the inside of my thigh. 

I feel hot and it has nothing to do with the warm weather. 

Damon reaches to take the joint from my hand, pulling me along with, towards him, catching my lips in a sloppy kiss, eyes heavy lidded, gaze lazy. No ones ever looked at me like this. Wanting. 

Damon teases out a lightness in me, a sense of carefree that lets me stop thinking and worrying and just lets me enjoy the moment. I’m usually always trying to figure out what to do, uncomfortable in my own skin, a shadow to Anne’s voracious self. 

But here, with Damon in the back of a cab, smoking a joint, I could care less about the impending future of whether Anne hated me for leaving her again, or what my mother would think. His leg bounces as his hand taps against his knee, listening to me, watching through increasingly glassy heavy lidded eyes. 

Damon takes a drag, inhaling and pressing his lips against mine, crowding his body against mine. I let him press me against the worn seats, and open my lips against him mouth. Ashes and smoke on my tongue. 

His hand caresses my cheek, mouth rough on mine. 

My breath hitches. 

It’s hard to think while I melt against him. 

Smiling I pull away, taking the joint from his hand, “Well that’s one way to get high,” and then I take a drag, grateful to have something to do with my hands.

He chuckles, leaning back against the seat, slumped low, and man spreading so hard I want to laugh. “It’s called shotgunning sweetheart,” he says, the ever-present whistle in his words now familiar and endearing. I do laugh. 

We leave the cab feeling giddy and falling against each other. 

His hand is warm as he holds mine and we walk into a bowling alley. It’s soaked in neon and loud rock from before I was born. The type of rock everyone listens to when they’re trying to be cool and edgy. 

“They have the best milkshakes here,” he says leading the way to the counter, the place decently busy, “vanilla’s my favorite. They’re cheap too which just makes them all the better.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re a cheap date,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as breathless and awkward as I feel. Arching an eyebrow, I add, “Thought you were in a signed band?”

“Lyra,” Damon tsks, leaning in, stroking the back of my cheek with his hand, “Lyra, lyra, what am I going to do with you?”

“Buy me a milkshake.”

He chuckles. “I can do that.” Damon’s eyes travel down my figure, always rounder than I’d thought flattering, than the thin girls who looked good in anything, before he goes to pay for a lane and milkshakes.

The shoes are falling apart, I wrinkle my nose and shove my foot in as he types our names in, “I hope you’re not super competitive or anything,” he says

“And why not?”

“Because I’m really fucking good.”

“Really,” I say, mockingly, “hope your fragile ego can take being beat by me then.”

I take small sips of the milkshake, strawberry. 

“Ain’t it good,” he asks.

“I dunno,” I shrug, “I’m not a milkshake connoisseur. I’m down as long as it’s not bad and cheap.”

“I took the liberty of adding in some E I stole from Alex yesterday,” he says, right before rolling the ball. It makes a loud smack against the floor, making me jump and glance around to see if anyone’s looking over. “Hope you don’t mind.” He comes right up to me, wide eyed, cupping my cheek before kissing me. 

“You should have asked,” I snap, pulling away. “Now quit trying to distract me. It’s not going to stop me from utterly destroying you.”

“You rolled a gutter ball last,” Damon says coming up right behind me, hugging me from behind, unable to keep the patronizing lit from his words.

“All part of the plan,” I giggle. 

“I’ll teach you if you want,” he whispers against the shell of my ear. I’m glad it’s so dark in here or I’d be very embarrassed about how intimate this felt, this was. I’m glad he can’t see how flushed I feel. 

Giggling, I shake my head, “I’m calling it now. This roll’s gonna be a strike.”

“If you say so.” I can feel how hard he is against my bum. It makes me giggle harder. 

“Just watch,” I say throwing carefully instead of hard. Watching the ball roll it’s way down the lane, giddy in anticipation as it stays straight, straight down the lane and-

“Told you so!” I jump in excitement, turning around, smiling at Damon, feeling better than I did when I got blitzed out after finals last term.

There’s a hardness in his jaw for a second, a seriousness that hadn’t been there a moment ago before it’s gone and he’s grinning down at me, whispering “so you did,” and kissing the corner of my mouth. 

We finish the game, in between rolls and milkshake breaks. 

Damon wins, but not by much. 

“What does E do exactly,” I ask as I finish off my milkshake, tossing it in the trash.

Grinning lazily, Damon smirks, “Makes everything feel ten times better.”

“Everything,” I say wriggling my eyebrows.

“Everything,” he repeats. 

*

Slamming the bathroom stall door shut, we make quick work of his jeans, undoing the belt, falling around his ankles as his hands trail up my thighs, hiking my dress up as they go, setting my skin aflame with his touch. 

We’re a mess of limbs and hot and heavy kisses, sweet from the milkshakes. He nips on my skin as he trails kisses down my neck. My fingers wind into his hair, tangling and grasping. 

Damon moans against my skin, fingers digging into my waist, dragging my knickers down. “Fuck, Lyra.” 

My hips buckle, wanting and needy. I’m floating on cloud nine. I’m fourteen years old again, just having learned how to masturbate from one of the magazines Anne bought. Fuck. My arms wrap around his neck pulling Damon closer, against me. 

He comes up, meeting my lips in another kiss, eyes fluttering closed, sighing deeply. I can taste the artificial vanilla on his tongue, sugary sweet. 

“Damon,” I moan, need-ily. 

“Shh,” he utters against my lips, “sweetheart, shh.” His hands work my underwear down to my thighs and I kick them off from there. 

Damon pulls my leg up, around his waist, pulling away, burying his face against my neck. I groan as he thrusts in.

Its hot and heavy. The pressure and heat building, I shut my eyes tightly, moaning, my toes curling in my beat up adidas. “Fast,” I whimper. “Damon, fuck.”

He ignores me, keeping his thrusts slow and deep, but I don’t care because in a second I’m gone. Boneless with pleasure, propped up Damon and the wall against my back. My hands relaxing from their hold on his back. 

The feeling follows me as we stumble out and into the street, giddy and fucked out of my mind. In a haze Damon leads my into another cab. 

Into another club thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. 

They’re playing the talking heads. 

There’s drinks that burn my throat as we dance, drugs that Damon simply explains as “uppers,” as we fumble into another bathroom, the tile cold and hard against my knees. Damon’s hand tangled in my hair. 

The red led lights of a clock are the last thing I see as I fall into bed, curled up next to Damon. My eyes can’t focus on the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im trying to write more rn. ive also got multiple projects so it really depends on my mood what i update. i do want to finish this because i already know what i want to do with the story. ive had the entire thing planned out. ty i kno theres at least 2 ppl out there who care plus my friend that i have read this to make me feel good about it. ive only been seriously writing fic for the last year and my writing has improved a lot thank god. 
> 
> feel free to hmu on tumblr (elektranxtchiios) and tell me to hurry the fuck up with the next chapter

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts?


End file.
